


The Little Raven and Her Hound

by TeriTheTacticalUnicorn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Mage in a world without proper magic, Major canon divergence, Post Season 8, Post Trespasser, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, This is what becomes of a Plot Bunny at one am, Time Skips, more tags to be added as I write, multi-fandom - Freeform, not too major though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:28:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23356222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeriTheTacticalUnicorn/pseuds/TeriTheTacticalUnicorn
Summary: Cerise Lavellan is a 24 year old mage and the love child of Ellana Lavellan and Solas. Solas is about to bring his plans to fruition, but doesn't want his child caught in the fires that will burn Thedas to ash. Instead, he sends her to another realm through the fade, a place called Westeros, where the lifestyle isn't much different, but the people and surroundings are brand new. How will an elf be welcomed into the world where Dragon Queens have burned cities and Direwolves surpass Mabari in every way? Also, what's up with her magic?
Relationships: Blackwall/Female Inquisitor, Past Solas/Female Inquisitor, Podrick Payne/Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Original Female Character(s), Theon Greyjoy/Arya Stark, Tormund Giantsbane/Brienne of Tarth
Kudos: 11





	1. The Little Raven - Cerise Lavellan

**Author's Note:**

> This... I don't even know what to call this, but I'm GOING WITH IT DAMMIT! Can you tell I have been on Lockdown? With my children? Yea, it's been a fun couple of weeks {insert dramatic eyeroll} I don't know how this will go, but I have wanted to play with this crossover for awhile. HERE IT IS!The Dragon Age/Game of Thrones fic no one asked for.

**The Little Raven**

  
  
  
  


Cerise Lavellan was the first born daughter to Thom and Ellana. Her sunkissed ears came to a point thanks to her mother’s elven lineage. She had four brothers and two sisters, her youngest sibling being no more than a babe. None had pointed ears as she did, however. 

Her mother had told her stories about the Elvhen Gods, how the Dread Wolf tricked her and said he loved her only to break her heart, not once, but twice. How he had planned to tear down the veil, but that the plans that he had promised would come to fruition never came in the twenty-two years since she saw him last. 

Now her mother and father had a nice farm just outside of Lothering, raising brontos, horses, and Mabari. Cerise was no different than her mother. She had magic, but Divine Victoria abolished the Circles when she became Divine. Mages were no longer forced from their families as small children and forced to live as prisoners, though blood magic was still illegal. 

Cerise sat on a wooden bench under the willow tree near Lake Calenhad which bordered her parents' land as her mabari, Trinity, chased falling leaves. Autumn was near and it brought a chill to the southern part of Ferelden as it did most years. 

Nothing could have prepared Cerise for what lie ahead of her when the ground started shaking and she could hear the screams of her parents and siblings from the house a mile away. As soon as she could regain her footing, Cerise gathered the skirts of her navy dress and ran towards the screams, but as she got closer to the house, a green glow enveloped as she watched what looked to be a thin, bald elf walk down the stone path towards it. Her dark brown curls swayed into her face from the wind that shouldn’t be there. 

Trinity barked and whined as her mistress fell to her hands and knees from the violent quakes in the ground. Cerise wouldn’t let anything happen to her family, she couldn’t! With what seemed to feel like newfound power, she pushed an ice spike from her hand with ease and watched as it landed in front of the elf. She stood once more as the quake subsided and began to lob ice towards the intruder again and again, though it never seemed to get anywhere near him. 

That was when the realization hit her; he was a mage, and a powerful one. But so was she. He seemed angry as his path changed and he was heading in her direction, his eyes seemed to leak a sickly green glow. His features looked familiar, though she had never laid eyes on this man before. 

“You will not harm them!” She screamed, her own eyes, a violet and sapphire mix that favored neither of her parents, saw red. She tossed fireballs and ice spikes at the man’s feet before realizing something her mother had told her;  _ ‘The fade has a green glow, I had never felt magic like it in my life, nor had I ever been more powerful.’ _

The fade was open, and now she knew it as much as the man who walked towards her. She brought her hands to her side as she pulled energy into her being. With everything she could, she pushed. Her hands never leaving her sides as she made eye contact with the mage. 

“You will leave!” She growled as she set the ground aflame in a circle around him. He seemed to smirk. That was when her mother’s blonde curls could be seen out of her periphery. 

“Cerise! Don’t, he will not fall to you darling, he is much too old and much too powerful.” Ellana said as she reached her daughter. 

“I will not standby, mother. He will  _ burn! _ ” Cerise said calmly as she stepped up to the circle.

“You were kept from me. I see mine weren’t the only secrets kept, Ellana.” The man said as his blue-violet eyes found Cerise. Why did she have this man’s eyes? His bone structure? Even his devious smirk reflected her own.

“Would you have stayed? Would you have even  _ cared, _ Solas? Where were you the last twenty-four years of her life?” Ellana shouted as she extinguished the flames.

“Mother?” Cerise asked as she pushed her hair back from her face.

“I have not been completely honest with you, my love. Your father is the Dread Wolf. Or Solas, as I knew him.” She said as the shock registered on her eldest child’s face. 

“No, my father is Thom Rainier, Warden Commander of Ferelden. This is a stranger to me.” Cerise said, venom pouring from her words as she looked at Solas. “You are no family of mine, Dread Wolf. Leave.” 

Solas smirked at her words. “I will not be leaving, but you will be, Cerise. I would not have her here when this world ends, Ellana. You must’ve known I would find out I had a child.” He threatened, but it didn’t sound empty.

A moment later blackness surrounded her vision as Solas raised his hand. Then nothing. Then pain, as if Cerise’s very soul was being torn to pieces by demons with sharp claws. 

She didn’t expect what she saw when she woke.


	2. The Hound - Sandor Clegane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Elf meets her future, though she doesn't know it yet! Cerise wakes up in a large castle with no recollection of how she came to be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to sutsop and Lavisyste for Beta reading and editing my horrible punctuation!

**The Hound**

Cerise was in a bed she didn't recognize, she usually shared a bedroom with her two sisters. The room she was in was twice the size of her room at Skyhold! And what was she wearing?

As she sat up, her eyes adjusted to the sun filtering through the huge windows. Cerise could see she wasn't in her navy dress anymore. Instead she wore a violet nightdress she had never seen before. A sharp pain in her face shook her from her wonderment. 

She let a sharp hiss out as she felt bandages covering the left side of her face before realizing that she couldn't see out of that eye. The loud creak of an opening door made her jump as a young woman stepped into the room with a tray in her hand. 

"I am sorry, my lady. I did not realize you were already awake. I must inform my Lord you've woken. Please break your fast, you must be famished." The words came just as her stomach rumbled at the sight of steaming fresh bread, what smelled like a bronto broth, and fresh boiled eggs.

"Th-thank you," was all her hoarse voice could release before the tray was set on the empty half of the bed. Cerise waited for the woman to leave before eating everything that was offered her with the fervor of a hungry wyvern. Whoever had saved her deserved a proper thanks.

After eating and filling her stomach, Cerise went to stand, realizing there were fresh, deep scratches on her pale legs covered in bandages, which smarted with every step. Crossing to the window slowly, she sat in a chair and looked down over amazing gardens as a large man who was dressed in a strange tunic and breeches strolled about, followed closely by a large black horse. 

The woman who had brought her breakfast walked up to the man and they spoke for a moment before she bowed and left him. He began back towards the strange castle. 

Was she in Tevinter? But there were no elven servants that she had seen. It took a few minutes, but the inevitable knock on her door was softer than she expected. Her throat hurt; she said "Come in" as best she could from her perch on the soft chair she had curled into after opening the large window.

A giant of a man with scars on the right side of his face stepped in before a few servants with steaming water and fresh linens for the bed. "I found you after my ride two days ago, how do you fare?" the man asked in a rough tone that suggested years of command, or some sort of military. 

"I am sore, but I will live," she said curtly, not averting her gaze from steel grey eyes that reminded her of sword training with her father. 

"You're not the first to stare, ya know," he said, almost poking fun as she blushed and looked away. 

"They remind me of my mother's injury. She lost her arm when I was two years of age. Magical mark burned it's way from her hand up her arm. Surely you've heard of her. She was known as "The Inquisitor,"" she said, noting the smell of rose oils as servants filled a copper bath. 

"We have never had an Inquisitor in Westeros, girl," he said, crossing his large arms over his chest and cocking his one eyebrow. 

This alarmed Cerise. Westeros? Where in the void was that? "Westeros? I don't know this place. I'm from Thedas, a country called Ferelden. Where's my mother? My father? My brothers and sisters? I have to get back!" She screamed as she tried for the door, but fell after a few steps thanks to her injured legs. She began to sob, "They're in danger. This man was trying to destroy Thedas, then he said I shouldn't be there." Her sobs turned to rage as she hoisted herself up from the chaise. "I am going to gut that Elvhen God from throat to groin!" 

The man actually  _ laughed _ at her. "Have you gone mad, girl?" he asked as he helped her up.

She turned her violet-blue eyes at him, "Do I look like a madwoman? No, I am not lying, he must've sent me through the fade. Must be how I got these," she said, pulling the skirt of her nightdress up to reveal the bandages which she ripped off without a single wince. She laid her hands on her legs and she could feel herself pulling magic, but nothing compared to what she felt when healing her siblings after a tumble from a tree.

She pulled enough magic to close the wounds on her legs, but not enough to completely heal the scar tissue. They were just scars; her legs now held a dull ache and she could feel blood running from her nostrils from the effort of pulling the magic to her. "What happened to this place? There is barely a whisper of the fade here," she looked up as the large man nearly gave her a murderous glare. But he fixed his expression quickly, choosing to believe her story as she pushed her hair behind a pointed ear. 

"You're really not from Westeros, are you girl?" he asked as he sat on a padded wooden bench at the end of the bed.

"No. I am not. And my name is Cerise. Lady Cerise Lavellan, first born child of Duke Thom and Duchess Ellana Rainier. Or so I thought. My mother nor father never told me the truth of my birth, so the father I know isn't actually my father," she said as she stood and crossed the room to a dressing table where she found a leather band to tie her hair back. 

"Sandor Clegane, Lord of Clegane Keep and Warden of the Westerlands. I am to leave for Winterfell in a fortnight to see some old cunts I consider friends. You might want to cover those up, we don't have pointy ears here that I know about," he said before curtly nodding and taking a second look at the long, jagged scars that now littered her legs before leaving.

Two weeks later, it was almost domestic the way she would find Sandor in the yard, knocking green boys down for training. He had told her about the great war of Kings Westeros was still healing from that had been three years past. How he used to be called a horrible nickname, 'the Hound'. And how that nickname died the day he almost did, though one of their Gods, the Stranger, had seemed to take pity on him as he lay at the bottom of a hill bleeding out. 

Sandor found this girl funny. She would choose to wear pants instead of the gowns he thought all pretty highborn ladies liked to wear. She had told him women had much more freedom in her land, they could wear whatever they chose, some, like her mother, led the military and guard. 

That he reminded her of whatever a Qunari was, but without horns. And magic was a normalcy, but that magic users used to be locked up in towers. He had never felt more comfortable with a woman; she didn't care that he had scars on his face, even after learning of their origin, swearing up a storm and saying a man like his brother would have been hung.

What really impressed Clegane was how silent she was. She was a mage, but had learned from her uncle Cole to be stealthy and use daggers. The day before they were to leave for Winterfell, he watched her fell eight men who accosted her in the village when he went into a smithy to retrieve her new saddle; disappearing into the shadows just to reappear in a different spot and slide a dagger through a throat, stomach, head like it was made of butter.

He looked at her differently now. He learned she was only eight years younger than he was. She had siblings she cared for, parents who loved her, and a family that wasn't true family, but friends her parents fought with during a terrible time when a would-be God tore a hole in their sky, how their Holy Woman used to be her mother's spymaster and that she grew up in a castle deep in the mountains. 

Her life had seemed extraordinary to Sandor. But the way she spoke sometimes nearly brought tears to his eyes. Especially when she spoke of her family. 

"My younger sister, Leli, would always pick Crystal Grace and was learning to make soaps and oils. She was eighteen. And little Dorian, he was only seven. I fear I may never see them again, Sandor." Her eyes, he didn't know what it was about them, but when they fell, he wanted to make everything better for her. 

She hid her pain well as they sat across from each other during their evening meal at the head of a long table surrounded by thirty-four chairs… she had counted them the third day she was there. 

The next morning, Sandor strolled into the stables where Cerise was sneaking an apple to Stranger and Hollow, the white destrier he had purchased for her. A small puppy from the kennels yapped as her whole backside shook from the excitement.

"Sorry, she was whining. I'm a sucker for a whining dog. She may be a bit spoiled now, Sandor." Cerise said as Sandor chuckled at the sight. 

“It’s quite alright, Little Raven. She seems happy to be out of the kennel.” He said, unabashedly noting the way her muscles were more pronounced than any woman besides that Tarth bitch. She was not some soft, frilly lady who sat around and did needlepoint. She had been trained as a weapon from childhood, and it showed. Maybe not only as a weapon. From what she had told him, Thedas was a more dangerous place than Westeros. Learning to defend themselves at a young age, and not just boys, but every child. Every man and woman had to learn to fight or die where she was from. 

Cerise wore some velvet leggings she had crafted from one of the gowns he had given her. A loose cotton undershirt she had stolen out of his armoire and a leather belt around her thin waist. The boots she had worn before everything happened to her nearly reached her knees. She wasn’t very tall, actually; she was shorter than the average human woman by almost a foot, but he found it quite entertaining how she wretched herself atop a horse. 

His favorite story she had told him so far was about the woman Elf, who had fought a large dragon that held the soul of an old god. The woman had brought several different factions of people to fight as one, like Jon Snow had three years prior. The stories about her mother and the Champion of Kirkwall also had him sitting on the edge of his chair in the library of Clegane’s Keep. 

An hour later, Cerise was putting Hollow’s saddle on, fixing the straps just how her mother had taught her when the same puppy yapped near her ear, nearly sending her to the ground. “Sandor, you nearly killed me with a pup!” she said, laughing and holding her chest.

“Here. She’s yours,” he said, depositing the small, fuzzy ball of wiggles into her arms. Cerise nearly squealed as she absentmindedly wrapped an arm around Sandor’s waist in a side-hug before smiling and thanking him profusely. 

“Thank you, thank you so much. I miss my mabari hound, but she will be a great addition to my ever growing collection of animals.” Cerise quipped and rolled her eyes as Stranger and Hollow both nudged at her shoulder. “We are almost ready, Hollow and Stranger have been prepared. Is anyone else coming?” she questioned, looking around for the usual posse of Clegane shields and cloaks that weren’t usually too far away at any given time. She did love his house sigil, only because it had dogs on it. He had to explain his house words to her, however. He had told her that his former house words were ‘Sworn to Lannister’, but the last living Lannisters were Tyrion, who was married to the Queen in the North, and Tommen, who was a ward of Queen Sansa and King Tyrion Stark, who had two children of their own and were expecting a third. His words were now ‘Honesty, Loyalty, Honor.’ She thought it was fitting.

She pushed her left foot into the stirrup and lifted herself into the new saddle atop the tall destrier mare after a maid took Dalish from her. The dog reminded her of her Uncle Bull’s friend. 

A small contingent of soldiers made up what little guard they would be taking, only a half dozen men, and they were headed north towards Winterfell.


	3. Winterfell in the Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their trip to Winterfell is an uneventful venture, but once they arrive it's time to get drunk and make new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to sutsop and Lavisyste for their contributions to my punctuation and keeping me writing. They are some of the best friends I could hope for!

**Winterfell in the Winter**

  
  


Three weeks. That's how long it took to get from Clegane's Keep to the gates of Winterfell. Sandor received a warm welcome, and when asked who Cerise was, he introduced her as his new military advisor in his letters to the Imp.

It had only made sense; Cerise probably had more military knowledge than half of Westeros combined with her father having been a chevalier and her mother the leader of an entire Inquisition for over twenty years before stepping down. Cerise was to step up and lead the Divine's special peacekeeping force. She was just about to take her new post at Skyhold before being sent through the fade.

In their three week adventure, Clegane learned that the little Elf girl who was sleeping on a bedroll instead of in a tent could drink him under the table. The cold really didn't bother her, nor did the rain. He questioned everything that had led to her arrival into his home, but it almost seemed fated; and Sandor didn't believe in fate until he killed his brother and survived.

"So, it's a giant, naked rat?" Clegane asked as they rode up to Winterfell's gates; Cerise was trying to explain what a Nug was.

"Sort of? It's more like… a giant naked rabbit. It is really hard to explain what something is when it has been a normal part of your daily life for so many years, I suppose." Cerise shrugged and shook a loose chocolate curl from her face. She had her hair down as Sandor had suggested, hiding her ears, and a braid cascading down to her hips in the back of her head. A pinkish scar ran down the right side of her face, but she could still see out of her eye, which Cerise was thankful for.

As they rode through the gates, the household was standing in front of the steps leading into Winterfell castle.

A tall woman with a silver wolf crown atop her crimson hair stood next to a dwarf that strangely reminded her of her uncle Varric, but just a touch shorter and not as stocky. 

In front of them stood a girl with red curls and green eyes who couldn't be more than two, and in the Queen's arms, perched on a pregnant belly was a child that was probably shy of his first birthday with blonde hair and blue eyes. 

Their servants and staff all stood behind the couple and their children; it really wasn't much different from Thedas. Powerful women were in charge of this world after their tragic war, even the King in the south, who Sandor admired even though he called him 'Bran the Broken' had a woman as his hand.

"Clegane, welcome back to Winterfell, you big fuckin brute," a tall man, nearly as tall as Clegane himself, stepped forward and clapped him on the shoulder. His red hair was a sight since Clegane told Cerise that red hair was rare in Westeros. This must be Tormund - he looked wild, with his untamed hair and beard.

"Get off, ya cunt," Clegane grumbled as his face smiled. 

“You finally tricked a woman into bein’ on yer arm, or is she a prisoner?” Tormund asked, eyeing the small woman as she climbed down from her horse.

“She ain’t a prisoner ya daft tit. This is Lady Cerise, she is my military advisor. She gives the Guards of Clegane’s Keep a run for their money and bruised egos. Watch yerself, Giantsbane,” Clegane warned, but the tone was almost joking. Clegane kissed the Stark Queen’s hand, and Cerise curtseyed. Soon after the pair were ushered into the castle, where a large meal had been prepared.

The night was almost a celebratory one; Cerise was sat next to Sandor at the head table, and barraged with questions from passing serving girls of how ‘The Hound’ treated her. “He treats me fine. How  _ should _ he treat me?” she asked before finishing another cup of the warm spiced ale.

“You heard about his brother Miss? He killed three of his wives, and some say his little sister,” the golden-haired servant said.

“And who says we should judge someone on the actions of a family member? Go about your work before your Queen sees you irritating one of her guests,” Cerise chastised before standing and joining Sandor at one of the long tables in front of the dais. The group of men, and one short-haired woman Cerise had yet to be introduced to, were playing a card game in the near empty hall.

“Little Raven, done talking to the serving girls? Thought you were gonna gut that blonde one,” Sandor quipped before handing her his cup.

“It was a close encounter, if she hadn’t decided to go back to her work, I probably would have,” she smirked as she leaned her arms on his shoulder to look at his hand. She had never seen playing cards like these; she would need to teach Sandor how to play wicked grace.

“Enjoying the drink, Lady Cerise?” the dark haired girl asked, eyeing the woman who was leaning on her old friend.

“It’s not as strong as I’m used to, nice change. I expected the inside of the keep to be cold, but it’s very warm, how do they do that?” Cerise asked no one in particular.

“My family who built the castle hundreds of years ago made the walls hollow, warm water from the natural hot springs flows through the walls. It’s why it smells like sulfur,” the girl said as she took another drink. “I’m Arya Stark, by the way.”

“Or Wolf Bitch, as Sandor used to call me. He tell ya I left him for dead?” she asked, smirking at the woman.

“He did, Lady Arya. But he also told me how much he respects you and your family. Said your brother saved his life on more than one occasion,” Cerise said complimentary. 

After a few more hours, the group retreated to their quarters; Sandor was drunk and Cerise had to lead him to his rooms, which were thankfully right next to hers. After depositing him on his bed, she stole one of his furs and took the couch in the corner of his room to keep an eye on him. 

She didn’t know what this trip would bring them yet, but had she found a best friend in the giant man with a soft heart for downtrodden women? Or was this something more?


	4. What is this Feeling?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some soft stuff before some heavy, enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sutsop and Lavisyste for the beta and edit prowess

**What is this Feeling?**

  
  
  


Cerise woke early, like she always did. Sandor was still asleep, snoring on the huge featherbed, curled into the bear and wolf furs that served as blankets in the north. Leaving her boots where they lay, since she would come and wake Sandor after a while, she padded silently out of his bedroom and into her own without disturbing so much as an ant. 

A half hour or so later, a maid began to fill the tub that sat in front of the fireplace in the solar and helped her wash her hair, asking questions about her ears. She had told her it was a deformity she’s had since birth; it seemed the most believable excuse for excessively pointed ears. Cerise’s hair smelled like lavender - it was exquisite. 

Cerise needed help with the deep red and blue dress because she couldn’t reach the laces. She donned matching slippers before letting the maid braid her hair in a simple northern fashion. Once the maid was dismissed, she pulled a black fur-mantled cloak over her shoulders and made her way to the stables just under her bedroom window. Hollow and Stranger were happy to see her… or at least the apples and carrots she smuggled to them.

When Sandor woke, he was laying in his bed. His boots were sitting on a chair next to the door along with his heavy tunic. He didn’t even remember walking to his rooms the night before as he sat up and took in the room; the plush couch had a fur blanket folded on top of the missing pillow from his bed and a small pair of boots sat in front of it. 

Cerise had put him to bed, and made sure he slept without nightmares. Something she had begun to do back in the Westerlands when he had woken her with his thrashing and yelling one night. He didn’t understand why it pleased him and made him smile to know she hadn’t given a second thought to her own reputation to make sure he was safe from the nightmares of frozen corpses and burning cities. 

Standing, he crossed to the large round window that looked over the stables and the yard. He almost didn’t recognize Cerise in the dress he had gifted her as she gave Stranger a kiss on the face. Rolling his eyes and smiling at the one woman who could tame his ornery bastard of a horse, he crossed and pulled water to his face from the wash basin and dressed quickly. By the time he reached the Stables, Cerise was nowhere in sight. A stableboy told him she had gone to the Godswood. 

“Lady Cerise, are you well?” A female voice shook her from the reverie of the red leaves of the faced-tree before her. 

“Your Grace,” she curtseyed towards Sansa before turning back to the weirwood. “I am well, I never knew a place could feel so magical. And I have lived in some magical places,” Cerise smiled and sat next to the pool of water on a fallen tree.

“You may call me Sansa in private,” Sansa said as she lay a hand on her protruding belly. “I have never seen Ser Clegane smile more than a handful of times since I met him nearly eleven years ago, yet he seems happiest when you’re around. I think you are good for him,” Sansa said, sitting next to Cerise and smiling at the tree. 

“He has been nothing but kind to me since he saved my life. I may have died in the woods had he not found me. I helped him train his guards, the Westerlands military men needed a guiding hand,” Cerise failed to hide a crimson blush as Sansa gave her a knowing look. 

“He has a kind heart, even when he was nothing but a bodyguard to the Lannisters. He tried to save me from them, once. Tried to take me away after King Joffrey, to whom I was once betrothed, had taken my father's head for trying to expose the truth of his birth,” Sansa began, running her hand over the bulge under her loose velvet gown. “Sandor always thought himself a monster, like his brother Gregor. In truth, he would never harm a woman who needed help,” Sansa said before squeezing Cerise’s hand and leaving her to her thoughts.

Cerise smiled. She hadn’t known what this feeling she had acquired in the past weeks for Sandor meant until this moment. The realization made her smile and look over her shoulder at the break in the trees that encircled this holy place of Westeros’ Old Gods. She had never felt anything like this for anyone except family. A bond created out of unconditional love was rare. 

As fast as it had come, Cerise’s face fell. What if he didn’t feel what she had? She had only known him a little over a month, but knew his life story. And he knew hers. Her eyes began to water, but she didn’t know why. She didn’t know what to say to him now. 

She was nervous to talk to a man for the first time in her life. Cerise needed to pull it together and talk to him.

Sandor heard enough from where he was standing at the entrance of the Godswood. Saw the way Cerise’s face turn red when the Little Bird suggested Cerise might have feelings for him. It made his heart flutter, which nearly knocked the breath out of him. It was a new feeling. 

Sansa gave him a knowing smile as she walked out of the Godswood. No words were exchanged between the old friends.

Over the following days, Sandor noticed Cerise spending time with the Little Bird. They would talk in hushed tones, as he knew women to do. A masque was being held on their last night in Winterfell and he had seen her and Sansa at the dressmaker in Wintertown. It seemed she was never alone to speak to. She would sleep on his couch after taking him to his rooms, and slip out before he woke. He would see her training with Arya in the yard, or sitting next to Sansa with other ladies in their sewing circle with a book in her hand.

Sansa had become an invaluable friend to Cerise in the two weeks they had been in Winterfell. Cerise had learned that childbirth was just as dangerous here as it was in Thedas, though they didn’t have mages to heal extensive bleeding here. They had Maesters; men in grey robes with chains around their necks who acted as healers and physicians. Instead of elfroot and healing salves and potions, they had milk of the poppy to take away the pain. They called their babe preventative Moontea. Sansa had given Cerise permission to take any books she liked from Winterfell’s extensive library; she chose four books on Westerosi History. 

Three days prior to their departure, Sansa took Cerise to the small village just a mile from Winterfell; they were to have a ball in their honor two nights hence. There she stood, in a golden silk dress with a black cape that hugged her curves, grumbling in protest as Sansa laughed. 

Her hair had been washed and combed and styled. The dress was sitting in the corner on a wooden false body, mocking her as a maid lined khol under her eyes. The matching mask was a masterpiece.

The maid helped her into the gown, let the black silk cape billow behind her. She slipped the black dancing slippers onto her feet as the maid, who she found out was a maid that Sandor had hired for her named Lyra; she would be traveling back with them to Clegane’s Keep on the morrow. When Cerise looked into the full-length mirror, she didn’t recognize herself. 

Before her stood a beautiful woman with a scar that downturned one of her eyes, who was healthy and lean due to weeks of physical training. A chill ran down her spine as a knock came at the door.

“Lady Cerise? Are you decent?” Sansa asked before walking in wearing an emerald gone in thick wool with fur lining the hanging sleeves and base of the dress. “You look like Lady Clegane. Sandor’s mother Lillya had dark hair and light eyes; I met her once as a child.” Sansa said almost in shock as Cerise turned back to the mirror and observed how much she looked like the portraits that hung in the great hall of Clegane’s Keep.

Blushing, Cerise thanked Sansa, who donned a black wolf’s mask and the two women walked into the hall side by side.


	5. A Magical Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa holds a ball in their honor, but things don't go according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter to kind of fill in what would have just been a time skip. BRING ON THE EMOTIONAL TURMOIL!

**A Magical Night**

  
  
  


Men were gathered in the hall awaiting the women they were escorting. Sandor’s palms were sweaty as he waited for Cerise. Soft music was being played next to the dais where the head table was set for the Queen, her King, and their friends from the Westerlands. 

He had bathed, trimmed his beard, even had a new tunic made in his house colors after receiving a note from Cerise that she was expecting him to escort her and she expected him to look the part. The fact was he could hear the mirth she had had while writing it and it made him smile.

Minutes passed as other highborn lords and ladies were announced, and still, she hadn’t been. He had turned to fill his tankard with ale when she was announced.

“Lady Cerise of Clegane’s Keep, Military Advisor to Lord Clegane and newly appointed hand to the Warden of the Westerlands,” the announcer said as she entered with Queen Sansa, who was announced last. 

Sandor was in awe of the woman who stood before him. When she smiled, her almost silvery eyes met his grey ones. “Sandor, are you alright?” Cerise asked after a few moments. Her hair, hanging to her hips in their natural curls had tiny little jewels hanging from them. She wore makeup - and his house colors. It shouldn’t have shocked him as much as it did, however she looked breathtaking. 

“I am alright, Little Raven. Shall we?” Sandor asked as he offered his arm. Cerise nodded, taking it and gathering a handful of the skirts of her gown. 

Gasps of awe from dumbstruck participants reached the couple as Sandor led her to the center of the room to join Sansa and Tyrion. As if it was a novelty to see Sandor dancing with someone. Cerise could hear slivers of hushed conversation, ladies whispering that the new ‘Lady Clegane’ was much too beautiful for the likes of Sandor. And he noticed her violet hued eyes snap towards a pair of gossiping ladies; Sandor would not let anyone ruin such a wonderment for either of them. He pulled her closer and made her face him; he shook his head and whispered a soft, loving ‘It’s not worth it’ into her ear. 

After two hours, Cerise couldn’t take the whispering and jeering of the Northern ladies who had been invited to attend. While Sandor spoke to Tormund and a very tall, lean blonde woman, Cerise helped herself to his cloak and slipped outside. She didn’t know why she let others' opinions get to her; she never had before. Not at the Winter Palace, nor in Tevinter court when she visited her uncle. But now she stood in the yard of Winterfell as large snowflakes fell over everything before her. 

There was a certain ease in Winterfell, its people and its cold temperatures seemed to soothe the elf. It reminded her of  _ Home _ . Reminded her of the childhood she spent at Skyhold. It would be Satinalia soon at home… if there was still a home after all this time. She had never been away from her family this long, and she knew that the chances of ever seeing them again were slim to none. 

She sat on the stone steps and cried. What would her mother say to her in this situation? Her mother had been sent forward in time, sent through the fade,  _ twice _ . But never to a completely new realm, or whatever this was. 

Her heart hurt, almost physically as she pulled her knees to her chest and rested her cheek atop them. That’s when a large, warm arm wrapped around her shoulders; she hadn’t noticed Sandor until she was sobbing into his chest.

“I want to go home, Sandor,” she said through heavy sobs. He pulled her to him and he held her close.

“Then let’s go home, Cerise,” he said before placing a soft kiss on the crown of her head. Sandor quickly made their excuses, retrieving Cerise’s maid and bringing her clothes in her knapsack. Standing behind Hollow, Cerise changed clothes. She quickly dressed in a pair of her repurposed leggings, the loose undershirt and was pulling her boots on over her leggings when she could see massive boots stop in front of her through her hair. She looked up and Sandor had her cloak in one hand and her daggers in another. 

Within the hour, they were riding away from Winterfell, their small contingent and Cerise’s new maid in tow. 


	6. The Biggest Mistake of His Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas has taken Ellana and her three youngest children hostage, but that's not all. She warns him of the possible repercussions of attacking their daughter, but will he listen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to sutsop and Lavisyste for their poking at me to get chapters out, Y'ALL GET THREE TODAY!

**The Biggest Mistake of His Life**

  
  
  


Solas looked over the ruins of the Winter Palace as Ellana screamed profanities at him from the horse she sat atop. Her one hand was bound behind her back and her youngest three children sat in a carriage behind her. Solas was a lot of things, but he didn’t think himself a monster.

When he was finished burning Ferelden, he moved on to Orlais, then Tevinter. Now they made their way through the Arlathan Forest to the north of Tevinter. It was days before they came upon a grand castle that made Ellana’s magic hum through her body. This was a place that had been protected from time and wasn’t harmed by the fall of Elvhenan.

Ellana was escorted to a large room, her children with her as four maids kept her comfortable. She had watched Thom fall to Solas. And then Leli, her twin boys, Ashton and Drake. Little Dorian, Rhys, and baby Cassie were too small to defend themselves.

Rhys hadn’t said a word, where Dorian asked questions about the bald man who took them from their home and killed their father and siblings. Ellana had no answers for her son. She didn’t even know where Cerise was!

Solas asked her to attend him that night in his solar. What was his devious, insane mind planning now?

“Let’s talk about our daughter. Cerise, was it? She looks just like me, how could she not see she didn’t look like that oaf of a Warden pretender?” Solas’ voice was dripping with disdain as Ellana sat on a chair after filling a goblet with Tevinter Red.

“I have nothing to say to you Solas. I asked you to return to me, when you refused, Thom stepped up. It was your mistake to leave me, Cerise has nothing to do with this, Solas.” She said before sipping her wine indifferently. Any love for Solas she might’ve had twenty years ago had long since left her heart, and now he had killed her husband and her eldest children, Cerise was missing and she was being held captive.

“She will know her father, Ellana.” Solas said in that cocky ‘I’m always right’ tone he had. 

“You could have made that decision twenty-two years ago. The only father she knows is now ash because of you. Wherever you sent her, she will never waiver or bend to the wishes of a terrorist. She is probably planning her return as we speak, and I doubt she will be alone. You have severely underestimated your own child, Solas. People love my daughter, she is kind, and she is deadly at the same time,” Ellana continued as she filled her goblet once more. The fact that Cerise was still alive gave her hope for Thedas. Solas hadn’t killed most of their former companions. Thom, Sera and Leliana were not as lucky as the rest he had sitting in his dungeons. 

“She will understand why I have done what I have. The Elvhen will reign once more.” Solas nearly hissed the words as he expected more fight from the woman he loved and remembered. 

“You killed her family, do you think Cerise will not seek vengeance before asking questions? Do you know how close she was with the siblings you mercilessly slaughtered? No, you do not. I doubt you will live to see your precious Arlathan reinvented, Solas. Now, I am going back to my rooms to put my children to bed if that is all you required of me,” she said with a hint of a smirk on her lips. She recognized Abelas as he entered with a sad look on his face. She knew he would only be here out of necessity so Solas didn’t destroy him; they were once friends after Solas took her arm and he came to Skyhold. 

Solas knew what he had to do - He had to destroy the only thing he cared about most before she destroyed him. A simple location spell gave him his destination, a realm on another side of the fade. Looking through the Eluvian, he saw her, sitting atop the lap of a monsterous man and laughing about something he did not hear. She looked happy, and obviously safe. She felt it though, he saw her hands begin to cover with a hint of frost as the couple looked at each other and ran from the room when the light from the portal illuminated. 

He knew she wouldn’t go down without a fight, and it looked like the large man wouldn’t either. Solas stepped through the Eluvian and into a realm where his magic was severely dimmed… He hadn’t thought this through.

  
  
  



	7. The 'Almost' Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas is an idiot, ok? We all know that by now. He is cocky and does before he thinks {e.g. GAVE CORYPHEUS HIS ORB!} But we are about to enter a new level of idiocy from our favorite Love/Hate/Love relationship in Dragon Age Inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn't be able to get these chapters out this fast without the top-grade beta and editing done by sutsop and Lavisyste. Go check out their stories, you will love them!

**The Fight He Didn’t Expect**

  
  


It had been nearly a month since Cerise and Sandor had returned to Clegane’s Keep and he had just asked her to marry him. She was sitting on his lap in the library and laughing at a horrible joke when a chill ran down her spine and frost began to form on her hands, frightening the pair. 

The sickly green glow from across the room gave her pause, but only for a moment as she leapt up and grabbed Sandor’s hand to lead him to the barracks.

“Little Raven, are you alright? Your hands…” Sandor worried over her for a moment before watching her eyes fill with unshed tears. Her hands were still covered in ice.

“I shouldn’t have magic here. My magic shouldn’t be coming through at all without effort. He’s here, the damned fool,” Cerise said as she laughed almost maniacally. She had been here for nearing four months, she was used to the way magic required effort in this realm. Solas was new to it. 

“What do you need me to do, Cerise? Tell me, love,” Sandor asked as he cradled her face in his large hands. She smirked and nodded before he kissed her.

“Get the guard, we need numbers. Solas isn’t used to the lessened Fade here, I am. Just tell the guard to stay behind me until I give the signal,” she said with a sudden fervor. It was like a fire that had gone out had reignited in her. Sandor had never seen her so alive, so determined to do something. He watched as she flitted around the room; she grabbed up her daggers, the ones he gifted her the day after their return to Clegane’s Keep with the hounds on the scabbard and hilt. Their signal was ‘Release the Hounds’ which was more than a metaphor as Cerise had been training the hounds herself as if they were mabari. 

Clegane grabbed his sword and Cerise quickly helped him with his armor. He had been surprised when she said she didn’t wear armor. She slipped on a leather vest over the sleeveless undershirt. She had taken to making her own clothing from some fabric she purchased from the markets. Sandor wasn’t complaining; the outfits hugged her curves and made his breeches painfully uncomfortable sometimes. 

When she burst back into the library, Solas was sitting in her favorite chair. The portal into the Fade was gone. He sat with a smirk on his face and a glare in his eyes. 

“Why have you come, Solas? You are not welcome here. Leave,” she said in a stern voice, her sharp features reflecting his own as they stared each other down. She had tied her hair up and had a warrior’s tail hanging down her back, exposing the chained piercings on her sharply pointed ears. 

“Is that any way to greet your father, young lady? How about some respect?” Solas said, the words venom as they reached her ears.

“You are no family of mine, Dread Wolf. You’ve probably slaughtered my family.” She was getting angry now, and could feel a shift in herself as she pulled magic to her, with more ease than before since the Fade had just been opened in the room she was standing in. Her next words weren’t words. They were barks and angry growls.

Sandor stood in shock and awe as he watched his betrothed change forms, Before him, where Cerise had just stood now stood a huge hound with shaggy white fur. Her eyes had turned ice blue and there were now six of them as he stood next to her. The bald elf looked frightened now. As if he had been stunned into silence as his flesh and blood growled and snapped at him. 

When she bayed, Sandor knew that was the signal. Fifteen hounds came barreling into the library with two dozen guards, stopping next to their mistress. Solas decided this was the time to speak. “Your mother and youngest siblings live, Cerise. This is not the end.” 

And he was gone as quickly as he had arrived. Cerise was laying on the floor, unconscious when she changed back into herself. Sandor had lifted her from the floor and ordered Maester Killyan to check her and to make sure she would be alright. He had seen what just a simple healing spell had done to her; to change her shape completely, it must’ve hurt.

Sandor didn’t leave her side as she slept. Watching her lie in the bed they had been sharing in her room. Eventually, Sandor fell asleep holding her hand with his head lying against her chest to hear her heartbeat. 

She didn’t wake until the next morning, startling Sandor when she kissed his scarred temple. “Wake up, Sandor,” she had whispered into his ruined ear. 

He couldn’t find words, but collected her in his arms instead, pulling her into his lap and just holding her. “I thought you were going to die. I didn’t know you could do that,” he said into her messy curls.

“Trust me, neither did I. Must be because he is my blood; the Dread Wolf isn’t just a clever nickname. He is said to take the form of a large black wolf with six red eyes. I just didn’t know I could have the same ability.” She explained from her spot in his lap.

They just sat like that for a while, she in his lap surrounded by loving arms.


End file.
